


Good Omens, Bad Children

by aziraphineffable (angstter)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:14:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angstter/pseuds/aziraphineffable
Summary: A covenant was signed by Aziraphale, an angel, and Crowley, a demon, to keep an eye on Adam Young, the Antichrist, and guide him to remain a neutral child, which is neither good or bad, and prevent the inevitable coming of Armageddon. This required them to enroll to school where Adam and his friends are attending. However, Gabriel, another angel, applied to become a Theology professor in the same school, to ensure that the Antichrist will grow evil and far from the words of the Almighty God, making way for the Apocalypse to come.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	Good Omens, Bad Children

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, angels and demons! I'm new to this fandom and I'll start writing fics about it. I have not read the books, yet, but I will very soon! Read my fics and leave your comments so I can make them better.

**Chapter 1**

Crowley does not like reading books, nor does he enjoy academic discussions. Both he can tolerate to an extent but never can he survive being surrounded by insecure, pretentious, and spoiled teenagers. That is why he has been asking himself if the decision he agreed upon with the angel to pretend as a high school student was a good one, and he already knows the answer.

A boy with messy blonde hair enters the classroom with the fragrance of milk and butter. His coat is carefully donned over his neatly pressed shirt, not a crease from top to bottom. The boy sits primly beside Crowley and places his backpack on the rack under his chair. “Good morning, Crowley,” he whispers cheerfully with a big smile.

“You’re late, Aziraphale,” Crowley replies with a dead look, the slits glowing in his snake-like eyes “and there’s nothing good about this morning.”

Aziraphale’s smile fades in astonishment, but he knows better than give in to Crowley’s temper. “I am not late, Crowley, you’re just too early. Also, you may want to fully obscure your eyes with those tinted spectacles as to not blow our cover. I believe the boy will arrive at any moment.”

“The hell I care about that?” Crowley rolls his eyes but otherwise fixes his stylish sunglasses. “I hate this uniform. Who wears a white undershirt under a black coat? Give me a hat and I can be as bad as a foolish magician with boring tricks.”

“Basically every school uniform with a coat, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, the smile returning while he fixes the collar of his coat. “And no. My tricks are not boring. They’re fun.”

“Now I’m tempted to teach you other ways to have fun,” Crowley’s lips thin in a smirk, and he will have winked if not for the glasses.

Aziraphale’s eyes widen and his cheeks turn red. “Th–that’s not an appropriate thing to say in front of these,” he scans the room before he continues, “children.”

“Oh, for Satan’s sake, Aziraphale, these young people you call ‘children’ know more about having fun than you will ever do,” Crowley replies with pride painted on his face. “And try to guess who tempted them into doing that.”

“That is utterly unforgivable,” Aziraphale says with an edge in his voice.

“I am a demon,” Crowley states, “and demons are unforgivable.”

"Speaking of the devil." Aziraphale stiffly positions himself on his chair and keeps a straight look on the board.

Crowley, confused about Aziraphale's sudden shift in tone, looks around to find a blonde-haired boy, followed by three other teenagers, briskly walking into the classroom. He quickly glances over his glasses to have a clear picture of them, and Aziraphale was right. It is the son of the devil. The antichrist. "Adam Young."

"You really don't have to mention it," Aziraphale whispers while keeping his eyes fixed on the board.

Crowley raises an eyebrow as he observes Aziraphale's movement, or rather immobility. His tightly interlocked hands are pinned on the table, shoulders unusually elevated, and his jaw as tight as ... Crowley can't help but chortle.

Aziraphale hears and gets annoyed by Crowley's disturbing evil sounds. "Can't you be quiet? We're in a classroom. You're not supposed to make noises."

"That's right!" Crowley replies. "We're in a classroom, not in a trial. What makes you look so nervous?"

"I'm not nervous," Aziraphale says defensively.

"You're an angel," Crowley whispers to his ear. "You must not tell lies."

"I said I'm not nervous," Aziraphale reiterates, suppressing his will to raise his voice. "I'm just— I'm just— Well, maybe I'm truly nervous," he breathes deeply in attempt to let loose, but there are still creases on his forehead.

"I thought you like books and 'children'?" Crowley asks. "That's why you suggested that we attend this school."

"Oh, yes, I do!" Aziraphale answers assuringly, "but I'm not really fond of the presence of someone superior."

"It's because God has always told you to fear him."

Aziraphale is about to say something clever but is interrupted by the graceful entry of the supposed teacher. He is a tall man with streaks of white and gray on his neatly combed hair, carrying a suitcase which matches the color of his elegant white coat.

"Gabriel?" Aziraphale, incredulous of the situation, murmurs under his breath.

"Good morning, class!" Gabriel greets with a wide smile, placing his suitcase on the table. "Let me introduce myself. I am Mr. Gabriel Ciel, your Theology professor!"

Crowley and Aziraphale slowly turn to each other, and in unison, they whisper, "Fuck."


End file.
